E et E: a tragic tale
by sylviep
Summary: A simple, bookbased romance between Enjolras and Eponine
1. Chapter 1

E et E 1

The Disclaimer so I don't get chased around by Zombie!Hugo.

Les Misérables and all the characters mentioned are property of Victor Hugo and the author of the fanfic has received no payment. Side Effects of reading this fanfiction may include, insomnia, brain damage, headaches, nausea, cynicism, back pain and boredom. (Such shiny self-esteem have I!) No animals were harmed in the writing of this. -blinks-

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Enjolras sat at one of the back tables of the Café Musain, his daydreaming directing his eyes towards the wooden paneling of the ceiling. The entire evening, his whole being had felt so despondent, and he didn't know how to explain it. Perhaps it was tied in with the out-of-control atmosphere of the backroom finally getting to him. Perhaps, it had to do with the cynical, half-amused glances Grantaire had been throwing his way before the alcohol had seduced the man into unconsciousness. Or maybe, he thought hesitantly, he was lonely.

Maybe he had been listening too closely to his friends talk before and after the meetings. They spoke of love and of pleasant evenings with pretty girls. Of course Enjolras knew what love was, and the way it would pound against his chest and put a bittersweet longing in his soul never ceased to stop intoxicating him. When he turned his mind to contemplating the future basked in light, the rush of feeling was his, even if only privately. He had tried hard to imagine what romantic love would feel like, and he had only felt cold. Unwilling to waste any more time and energy on such a fruitless matter, he contented himself with the future.

But in this impenetrable gloom, he began to wonder if he'd been wrong and separating oneself wasn't the best way to achieve one's goals. At this, he let out an irritated sigh. 'That wouldn't be it,' he told himself, angry at his own lapse in faith.

He stood up quickly and pushed the chair away almost violently, realizing too late that it would draw the eyes of his friends. "It's all right. I only want a breath of fresh air outside," he assured them with a careless wave of his hand.

The conversational chatter of the room was suspended in dead silent for a minute, causing drowsy Grantaire to look up, just in time to see his idol stride past him towards the door. "Enjolras," the drunkard murmured blearily, and stumbled to his feet after him.

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Eponine shuffled down the Pont au change, glancing from glowing, red sun to reflected in the Seine to the one suspended in the sky. The brilliant colored sky was beautiful in the dusk, but she wasn't sure why she kept coming out here. The sky always made her feel uncomfortable and little, when Eponine wanted to pretend she was bigger than the things she was surrounded by: a family who no longer loved each other, the biting pain of poverty, the feeling that no one actually cared. Eponine preferred littler things that she could touch or hold, things more real than the intangible afflictions. She would have preferred pretty, lacy gloves, or a thriving flower garden, or Marius' smiles…

Marius…She thought of him again, and how she hadn't seen him in weeks. She shook her head regretfully and softly sang to herself in a rasping voice, "It must be so; I am a knight and I am off to Palestine." She kicked a rock over the side and laughed. Her brave knight had left, but not her, for he wasn't hers.

He was Cosette's. Nothing Eponine could do made Marius happy, but that one time she gave him the address to Cosette's home. Even then, he wasn't actually happy with her, but at the idea of meeting his beloved, pretty Cosette

She balled her hands into fists and bit her lip. 'It's not fair!' she thought angrily, and turned on her heel to go home.

She stopped at a sudden idea. It wouldn't take her far out of her way to pass by the café Marius used to go to. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps there was some small chance of finding him there. Since that incident at the Gorbeau tenement with his precious little Lark, Marius hadn't returned to his room, and she was growing desperate. So, with far-off hope in her wild eyes, she headed towards the Rue Saint-Michel, into the deepening night.


	2. Chapter 2

E et E 2

"Enjolras!" Grantaire cried out, running after the man, well, stumbling after him rather. "Where are you going?"

"It isn't any of your concern, Winecask," Enjolras replied coldly.

"Come, come! Fearless Leader…"

"Go away! I'm tired to death of you and your inebriated nonsense!"

For a moment, Grantaire wondered what he had seen in this arrogant, angry man, who abused his devotion so, but as Enjolras turned away, Grantaire looked and remembered. Unlike the words Enjolras heavily relied on, the gleam of intensity in his deep eyes, the desperate fervor in his voice when he spoke out, and the set, somber attitude his unrelentingly handsome face had taken, were never wasted on Grantaire, no matter how wasted he was. He was a light to him; a harsh, blazing sun, but a light nonetheless.

"Look at the sky, it's going to rain. Why are you out here?" Grantaire scolded. The flaming sky had darkened as the sun went down and threatening clouds took over, like a red canvas with watery, gray paint spilled all over it.

"If only you would pay as much heed to the republic and such matter as you do to the weather…." Enjolras suggested bitterly. He moved away.

"You know I won't. You know I don't give a whit about the government as long as it doesn't affect the price of absinthe." Grantaire chuckled at his little joke. "What can you possibly do anyways?"

"There is much that an individual can do if they open their eyes and clear their heads of poison and distraction." Enjolras glanced around and caught sight of a tall girl wearing a tattered dress peering in the window of the Musain. "Open your eyes, Grantaire."

Grantaire did, and also raised his eyebrows as Enjolras stoically headed over to the girl. She swung around as she heard his footsteps close behind her, and backed against the wall, with only a defiant gaze to protect herself. Seeing it was only some student, she relaxed a little, though she began to edge away

"Wait," he insisted, grabbing her arm gently. " Tell me, what is your name?"

"Let go of me! I swear I wasn't doing nothing!" she protested and then yanked against his iron grip.

He obliged and demanded again, "Your name, mademoiselle," he asked. "I just want to know your name.

At the use of the word mademoiselle, the waif's distrustful face lightened, as if pleased. "Monsieur, my mother named me Eponine. Eponine uh-Jondrette. Sometimes I'm called Ponine," she chirped roughly.

She looked up and Enjolras impassively viewed the gamine's face. Like any Parisian gamine, it was gaunt, and it was dirty, bruised, and maybe half-wild, but there was some sort of intelligence and childish innocence in her dark eyes that surprised him.

"Have you had dinner this evening?" he asked her.

She looked taken aback and skeptical, as if no one had asked her that in a long time. Enjolras expected it, but it was still a reminder of the sorrows of her socials class and what he fought against. She shook her head.

"Well, I'd like to buy you something to eat," he announced. "Do you like the food here?" Eponine looked at him as if he were a madman.

Grantaire, despite his constant inebriation, had a good memory for faces. It allowed him to recognize whom he knew whom he could bum a drink off of. He remembered this girl too. She was a wretched little gamine who followed that silly dreamer Marius around. He decided to help out Enjolras in his attempt to lecture him.

"Don't be scared, Mam'zelle. We're friends of Marius," he said heading back towards the café door.

Eponine's face instantly brightened, but Enjolras was not so pleased at his interference.

"Don't even think about leaving, Grantaire," he warned in a commanding tone. "The Musain, then?" he asked, his tone softer as soon as he spoke to her, as if he thought the girl might fly off like moth if he startled her.

When she smiled gratefully, Enjolras nodded coldly and held the door open for her. "Go on, Mademoiselle."

Eponine grinned as she walked in. She was hungry, God help her, and she might get a chance to see Monsieur Marius, that is, if her luck was good. If nothing else, it would be pleasant to dine with this man, who was much handsomer then any men she knew except perhaps Marius. It was hard to compare, for Marius was handsome in a less cold, statuesque way, which she liked about him. Marius would smile at her if she talked to him about Cosette; this man didn't even smile at the friend he'd brought out with him. But, this man was going to feed her. Tonight seemed t be lucky.


	3. Chapter 3

E et E 3

When Eponine, Enjolras, and Grantaire entered the Musain, the lights blinded her eyes, which had become accustomed to wandering in the dusky allies that evening. As soon as she trusted her senses again, she looked around, spotted an empty table, and sat down at it. Now she could finally get a good look at the men who'd brought her here

The first man was tall, slender, and delicate looking, like china more than marble. She had been right; he was handsome, and even the darkness outside hadn't been able to hide it. But, she wasn't impressed; there were enough people painted on church walls that looked like him. Once Azelma had begged her to go to church to look at the angels on the ceiling and then got them kicked out when the brat started to squeal over a particularity fine-looking archangel. Eponine hadn't wanted to go the stuffy church, but it thrilled her even less to be thrown out. How Azelma would have been delighted to meet one in flesh!

The other man seemed to barely be able to keep his eyes open, was much scruffier. He shorter then Eponine, and looked like he had been trying to sleep off an excess of drink. In a quiet, rough voice, like hers but deeper, he said. "M'name's Grantaire, and that's Enjolras."

At this, the man who looked like a church angel, who'd been standing idly at the door, turned around, and with a clear disdain snapped. "Did you actually just call me by my name? I thought you'd forgotten."

"Oh right," Grantaire continued, "Of course, he also adores it when people call him F-"

"Enjolras. And that's all," Enjolras interrupted, with an absolutely deadly glare at the offending Winecask.

Eponine watched with a detached amusement, but began to scan the room for Marius or a threadbare coat he might have left on a chair. No such luck.

She gazed out the window she'd been looking in, wondering where in Paris he could be? She used to be able to find him, but since he learned where Cosette lived, he no longer visited the Field of the Lark. Some days, she'd wait outside the girl's home for hours and hours, but he was never there when Eponine came. She was sure he came at night, but despite her devotion to him, she could never go there when he was with…her. Till then, she could still hope.

She barely noticed when a plate was set in front of her. Not until Enjolras called out, "Mademoiselle?"

Eponine turned around to see a tin plate with a warm loaf of bread on it. Briefly, she considered bringing it home to share with her family, but she quickly discarded that idea. The only one of them who was nice to her was Azelma, and most of the time, she only got her in trouble and pull her hair when she wanted something Eponine had. No, this was for her.

Eponine tore at the bread with what teeth she had, taking an animalistic pleasure in making herself sick from eating so fast. It was good bread too: soft ,white stuff… The last time she had that was back at Papa's inn. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Enjolras look away, satisfied even if a little disgusted with her manners. He glared calmly at Grantaire, who avoided his blue, blue eyes.

She was a little miffed that they'd act like she couldn't see she was being made an example of, but didn't really care. She was eating; that's what mattered, right? She wolfed down the rest, and moaned, a hand against her aching belly.

"I guess you're full then?" Grantaire chortled again. That man was always laughing! It was annoying her how un-serious he was. He wouldn't laugh if he'd known she hadn't had this much to eat in her life! (When she was little and still well-off, Papa never gave her that much because she was small) But, despite his grating laughter the man's face was filled with an ineffable sadness that Eponine didn't believe was solely the effect of drink.

So Eponine merely shrugged off his comment and stood up. "Thank you, Messieurs. God bless you!" That was what these people wanted hear, right? An assurance of the righteousness of their deeds? Eponine knew she didn't have the proper learning of a sort of well-brought-up lady, but she knew she was clever. When she was giving coins out of compassion, she knew what to say to flatter their conscious sufficiently.

She turned to leave, when she suddenly had an idea. "You haven't seen M'sieur Marius around here, have you?" she asked, trying to sound conversational.

"Pontmercy? The Bonapartist?" Enjolras scoffed. "No, he chose not to stay in with us. I haven't seen the man in ages."

"Oh, Courfeyrac sees him all the time; he lives with him!" Grantaire said.

"He does?" Enjolras asked offhandedly. "Well, he'd be the one to ask then."

"Oh, I wouldn't!" the drunk warned, with a twinkle in his eye. "He's had it up to here with Marius! If you ask, you'll get a rant from him. Apparently, he stays put at ungodly hours of the night, like a bat, wooing some fair maiden, he's taken up writing dreadful poetry, and will speak only of her."

"And why would Courfeyrac of all people be upset with this?" the blond asked, with a bit of annoyance.

"Because, he refuses to tell him her name."

She felt her throat tightening and the newfound safe, happy feeling slipped away like the warmth of the sun, when it hides behind a menacing bank of clouds. "I've gotta go. I really do 'preciate all this. Goodnight" she muttered, and left before Enjolras and Grantaire could say goodnight.

Once outside, she clenched her hands into tight, bony fists and dug the heels of oversized working boots into the cracks in the pavement. She sighed and though, 'At least Marius is happy.'


	4. Chapter 4

E et E 4

A few weeks later, on a balmy morning in August, Enjolras decided that he wanted to check up on the political activity in the faubourgs. He'd spoken to Feuilly, one of the few plebeians of the group who'd know his way around there, the previous evening, but Feuilly was unable to get off his job till early afternoon, and even then, only for less than an hour. This cut right through one of Enjolras law courses; but unconcerned, Enjolras agreed. It wouldn't be the first or last time he skipped class to attend to the business of the republic.

So, as he turned onto the Boulevard de l'Hopital in Saint-Jacques, the thought that in five minutes, the professor would be calling his name on the role was only a small one. More pressing was meeting Feuilly at the nearby tavern, called Le Roi Ardents. His mind flew toward the sky as his feet scraped the ground; his entire condition had improved since Combeferre had dug up some particularly inspiring pieces of Rousseau from some elderly relative's library. Having read it, Enjolras felt fired anew. He wouldn't have remembered his fit of depression a few weeks ago if you'd asked him. It was a beautiful day; the sky was a bright azure with huge, white clouds. Somewhere deep inside him, this made Enjolras happy, but he didn't really notice.

As he passed by a sickly elm tree, he caught sight of a flash of shadow behind him and then suddenly a claw-like grip seized his arm. He yanked it back in surprise and turned to face the assailant. It was nothing but a small waif with dark, tangled hair and a pinched, homely face. "Monsieur? Monsieur?" the girl cried, dropping her hands as soon as he turned around.

"Excuse me, but I'm need to meet a friend in-" Enjolras began to say, but the girl began to babble.

"You don't remember me? Oh, well, I suppose I shouldn't expect much from a handsome, young man such as yourself. I think M'sieur Marius might not even be as handsome as you. But he is kind, and gentle, and remembers who I am…" She stopped speaking, and stared at him absently, twirling a bony finger through her matted hair. "But you…" she continued, her voice cracking. "See, you did help me that one night, and gave me good things to eat, which made my stomach stop feeling like it was getting stabbed at and my head stop spinning about, so when I saw you, I wanted to thank you. And -"

Enjolras cut through her jabber and curtly asked. "Excuse me, mademoiselle, I don't. I'm really very busy and I don't have time, not to mention I have know idea who you are,"

The waif sulked for a moment. A sulk on a pretty girl can be charming but upon Eponine, it was hideous and wretched. "It's me! Eponine! You remember you took me to the Musain a few weeks ago so you could preach to your other friend? Don't you remember? I asked you about Monsieur Marius?" She knotted her claw-like fingers together, and then looked down at the ground to kick at some loose stones.

Enjolras blinked, and felt his lips twitch in annoyance. Oh, yes. He remembered now. Well, he certainly didn't remember her being this garrulous. "I remember now. Listen, Mademoiselle, I'm incredibly busy right now. Here, go buy yourself something to eat," he instructed, pulling out a small pouch of coins.

Eponine's narrowed eyes trained upon the glint of money as he opened the bag. "Oh, I'm sure you are and with very important things to, and thought it would nice to get something to eat; you know I haven't eaten in two whole days?"

Enjolras thrust a five-franc piece into her hand. "There you go," he said and started to walk away, but Eponine, followed him, prancing behind him like a chickadee unable to fly.

"Monsieur, you really are too kind to such a poor girl as me. See, I'm smiling because you are kind!" Enjolras looked at the mouth with gaping holes where teeth should have been and at the chipped teeth that were left and winced. He had to keep himself from saying back, "I wish you wouldn't."

Instead, he turned about. "Mademoiselle, please stop following me," he ordered firmly, but quietly. Whenever Enjolras gave orders, he said them in a normal conversation volume, or a little less then that.

She frowned at him, grinding her bare feet into the pavement. They were calloused enough that it didn't hurt. She took a deep, rattling breath, and continued to prattle in her hoarse voice. "See, you said you were a friend of Monsieur Marius, and I still haven't been able to find him! Oh! Do you know how I have suffered for not seeing him in so long?"

At this, Enjolras stopped and looked at the girl, shaking his head pityingly. "You don't suffer from hunger, or cold, or the night you've been thrown into? You don't suffer from being helpless to decide your own future or to care for the people you love? You don't suffer for those, but from not seeing Marius?" he demanded, outraged for her in a way she couldn't be.

"Those do sound nice, M'sieur," she said, scratching her head idly. "But I'm not allowed to be picky. So," she said slowly, with a crooked smile. "I thought maybe I'd ask you to talk to your friend Monsieur Courfeyrac tell you wherever Monsieur Marius could be?"

He shook his head and stepped forward, but Eponine hopped in front of him.

"Mademoiselle! I don't have time for this! I'm on my way to an important meeting!" Enjolras stepped to the side, and she followed.

"Let me help, then!" she insisted, grabbing his smooth hands.

He pulled them away almost instantaneously. "Mademoiselle, how would you help us?" he demanded.

"What're ya doing at the meeting?" she asked back, beginning to smooth out her skirt out.

"Well, we are trying to find out what political opinions currently are running about the faubourgs," he explained, lowering his voice.

Eponine chewed on hair in thought for a moment, "Well, I know a lot of people who know a lot of people around here…Maybe I could help! No, Really!' she added defensively seeing the look of exasperation Enjolras face. "I don't care for politics, you see, but if I do this, maybe you'd consider asking your friend Courfeyrac a few things?" she asked in her guttural, grating voice.

Enjolras folded his arms and frowned in contemplation. "I'll let you try, and if I'm impressed, I'll talk to Courfeyrac. Is this acceptable to you?"

"Oh yes, very! Thank you, Monsieur, my day has been brightened by-"

"Mademoiselle, you are very welcome. Now, I really must be going." He strode past her quickly. Eponine was left clapping her hands gently in excitement. She turned around and scampered down the street, singing under her breath like music box that had been smashed but kept playing.


	5. Chapter 5

E et E 5 

Enjolras strode to the tavern faster than his usual brisk pace in order to make up for the waste of time the girl had been. Occasionally, he would pay a gamin to do the same work just in order to give them something to eat while having them work, but for information, he generally relied on Feuilly.

Chrétien Feuilly was one of the few members of the Friends of Abaisse who wasn't a student. Like L'Aigle and Pontmercy (who really shouldn't be counted…) he was an orphan, a hard-working young man who had struggled to teach himself everything he could. Feuilly was one of Enjolras' better friends within the group for his serious, quiet nature and similar opinions.

When he entered the tavern, which was dark and steamy, like the inside of some monster's mouth, Feuilly was already waiting for him, with two glasses of brandy. Normally Enjolras would refuse to drink, but from his friend, it was different. Feuilly made fans for a living, and it was a job that paid nearly nothing, so if he bought something, Enjolras was grateful.

"Salut!" Enjolras said curtly, sitting across from him. "Your news?"

The fan maker smiled and urged him to take a drink before he began, so he did. It was rather touching how proud his stern face looked to be able to offer his friend something.

"Well?"

"General opinion off the street is discontent, and even the bourgeois are beginning to miss Napoleon," Feuilly began with a small smirk. "And many of the workers speak of rebellion, of revolution! They think Charlie has gone to far with reinstating the old regime. Saint Antoine, there's a big factor too. They're slowly coming around, warming up to the ideas…" Feuilly's dark eyes flashed, clearly excited by the possibilities presented with the current situation, but Enjolras remained thoughtful.

"And what are they after? Lower taxes; higher wages; their daily bread? Economic or political reasons?" Enjolras asked.

"Both, though mostly economic. Higher wages, shorter hours, better working conditions. They want the government to protect their jobs and standard of living, and to keep workers who aren't from Paris out. Not even from other countries, but from other parts of France!" Feuilly bristled at this part, for he had always been one to support foreign nations more than anyone else in the group.

"And politically?" Enjolras probed, carefully taking another small sip.

"The people are tired of the censorship of the papers, and are still unhappy that the National Guard was disassembled in April. I don't think they will abandon the monarchy, but it's clear they want Charles out. I've heard people think Louis-Philippe should take the crown instead."

Enjolras nodded thoughtfully for a moment and then looked up at Feuilly's expectant face. "How soon can you have a report ready to share with the others? Three days?" Feuilly nodded, and Enjolras stood up and took his hand. "Thank-you. I'll see you at the Musain tonight?"

"Yes, but Enjolras…" he put in uncertainly.

"Hmm?"

"Do you really think this will be it? Do you think the people will wake up and fight?" the orphan asked softly.

"The situation show more promise then anything I've seen yet," Enjolras said with a slight smile.

As Enjolras strode out of the building, it occurred to him that he had nothing to do that afternoon since he'd already missed his class. He wondered Bahorel, L'Aigle, or Courfeyrac could possibly do with all that time they played truant. With a sigh, he decided to head to the Musain in hopes of finding one of them there.


	6. Chapter 6

E et E 6

Eponine skipped down the street, her heart surging. All she had to do was find out a little information, and she could find Marius! Then she could know where he lived, what he did, to be able to watch him as he walked from his home, to know how he was┘ And all she had to do was find out a couple of people's opinions.

She froze. Eponine might have thought herself bold, but going up and asking people what they thought of politics might be hard. What if they told her things she couldn't understand or remember? What if people ignored her? Now, that Monsieur Enjolras- no one would ignore him; he'd understand and remember┘ Maybe she could pretend she was some sort of republican too. She wasn't as pretty or well-educated or wealthy, but she'd pretended more elaborate things before┘

She flitted back to the Gorbeau Tenement, which was just down the street, really, bolted up the dilapidated stairs and into her home. Azelma was there, sitting on a table and humming to herself. Her bony legs swung back and forth to the rhythm of the odd ditty.

'What's your hurry?" the younger girl chimed out as Eponine entered.

"I have work," Eponine said, now searching around the room for some paper and maybe something to write with.

"For who? Doing what? Parnasse or Papa?"

"Neither. For a boy named Monsieur Enjolras. He's a student. He wants me to ask what people think of the politics around here," Eponine told her, rather proudly. It was interesting to realize that she had work that wasn't outright illegal or immoral, though she knew police didn't like fellows like him who were so interested in politics.

"A student?" Azelma asked, now thoroughly interested. "What does he look like? Is he rich?"

Eponine thought for a moment and decided she shouldn't have told Azelma anything. It seemed wrong somehow to talk about beauty in a place so squalid, but Azelma was as stubborn as her sister and would demand to be told.

"Well, he is blond and has blue eyes. He is very tall and skinny, sort of like Parnasse. He's very, very handsome."

"Like Monsieur Marius?" Azelma said with a grin.

Eponine scowled. "Don't talk about Monsieur Marius. I don't know why you keep bringing him up," she said contemptuously, turning away and trying to hide the blush that came up on her cheeks. "And no, he doesn't look like Monsieur Marius. He has a very cold way about him; he isn't very friendly."

"What's he paying you?"

Ugh, another reason to keep matters to herself. How was she supposed to explain to her little sister that she was only doing it for a chance to see Marius? "-5 francs" she said suddenly, surprising herself. Monsieur Enjolras had given her five francs, but she didn't mention that it wasn't payment.

"5 francs?" Azelma gasped. "Let me see!" Eponine pulled out the gleaming piece and dangled it in front of her sister's face.

"This is dinner for us. But don't tell Papa. You swear it!" Eponine said, her dreamy tone suddenly turning harsh and threatening.

"I won't! I won't!" Azelma reassured her, rolling her eyes. "Papa doesn't listen to anything I say anyways."

Satisfied, the big sister nodded. "Zelma, any idea if there's paper or something around here? "

"Mama has a stack of books hidden under the floorboards so Papa wouldn't sell them. Why, Ponine?"

"I need something to write on. And something to write with."

"I don't think Mamas coming back from Saint-Lazars. You could probably take one. And Monsieur Marias's room hasn't been rented out; maybe he left some student sort of things by accident, " Azelma suggested. "What's for dinner? "

Eponine shrugged. "I'll bring something back when I get home. How do you know so much?" she asked with a frown.

Azelma grinned ghoulishly, twirling a piece of damaged, auburn hair on her fingers. "Well, I pay attention. I'm not daydreaming over a certain boy or pretending I'm a princess or trying to brush my hair or-"

"Be quiet, you pest! I don't have to feed you," Eponine said angrily.

Cowed, Azelma folded her hands over her lap and nodded. "I'm sorry, Ponine, I didn't mean it-"

"Get me one of Mama's books right now," she ordered, which Azelma quickly did. "Thank-you," she said softly, receiving the book with gentle hands. Those books were a part of her mother, and she felt guilty for a moment over using them to scribble in. "Ah, well," she thought as she turned to head out of the room.

"Oh, Ponine, one thing," Azelma called after her, her voice shaking. "Parnasse wants to see you tonight." The little girl's face couldn't be more upset or sympathetic, but Eponine didn't want sympathy from her little sister or for her to be upset, and only nodded wearily. Eponine felt keeping Montparnasse appeased was some twisted duty for her little sister, a way of protecting her.

She crossed over to Monsieur Marius' room, and timidly pushed it open. She was hesitant about going in, just because it was his, but she did so after a few seconds anyways. The room was the empty and incredibly dusty. All the little particles were lit up in the afternoon light like small bugs or fairies floating in the air. The only piece of furniture was the frame of a bed, and there was a fireplace. She headed towards the fireplace and picked up a piece of fragile burnt stick, and decided she could use that if she was careful not to crush it.

So, equipped with her piece of charcoal and a trashy romance novel, Eponine decided to go out into the streets and try playing at being a republican for an afternoon.


End file.
